


When Tomorrow Comes

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: [2020 Speedwriting Challenge]  It wasn't as though Newkirk minded being dragged to Paris for a mission...  Well, actually, yes, he did mind, but, more than that, it wouldn't be as bad if someone would just tell him what in Heaven's name was going on.
Relationships: Louis LeBeau & Peter Newkirk
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	When Tomorrow Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the annual Short Story Speedwriting Challenge. It's meant to take place a few weeks after the events of Season 3's "Is General Hammerschlag Burning?" and just before the liberation of Paris in 1944.
> 
> Jean-Philippe LeBeau, Louis's brother, is an OC I wrote for a fic years ago called "Foreign City Sirens." There is a brief reference to that fic, but reading it is not required for this oneshot.

Newkirk had never been to Paris, and, as such, could only have expected what he’d heard about the City of Lights from word of mouth—most of it from LeBeau, who had told him the tales of how beautiful his beloved city had been before it had fallen. Even before the war, he’d idly thought of visiting the city, and though he’d never admit it to LeBeau, his friend’s stories had only strengthened that inspiration to visit after the war.

But fate had other plans—plans that would send him to Paris during the war…

***************************

_Kinch had gathered everyone in the radio room, looking slightly flustered with the news he had to deliver._

_“Tiger and DuBois are both on the radio,” he had said. “I just decoded the message they sent.” He’d had to pause for a moment. “They both insist that Newkirk needs to go to Paris to help them on a safecracking job.”_

_“…They’ve got to be kidding,” Newkirk had retorted. “Do you mean to tell me they can’t get ahold of a safecracker in the entire bloomin’ country?”_

_“I requested confirmation of the message,” Kinch had said. “They sent the same thing—they specifically want Newkirk for the job.”_

_“Charming,” Newkirk snarked. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to be breaking into for them?”_

_“They’re refusing to send any details of the mission for security reasons; they just want you to make your way to Paris, and further instructions will be given upon your arrival,” Kinch had replied. “And they reiterated two more times how important and urgent this was—by their accounts, you should have left_ yesterday _for Paris.”_

_And it was at this point that Newkirk had turned to LeBeau in utter exasperation._

_“Is everyone so stubborn in this country?”_

_LeBeau had merely given him a glare in response, and Hogan had stopped the argument before it started._

_“Alright, look…” the colonel had said. “We know Tiger and DuBois well, and they know us well. Clearly, this is something so important, it requires someone they trust beyond a shadow of a doubt. Newkirk, for all of your wisecracks and general roguishness, you’re the one they trust the most for this mission.”_

_“Lucky me…”_

_“You’re going to Paris. And LeBeau,” Hogan had added. “You’re going with him as his guide.”_

_“Wot!?”_

_“Quoi!?”_

_Sending LeBeau to his beloved homeland came with one set of risks, and sending Newkirk on a mission to Paris when he had minimal knowledge of the French language came with another set of risks. Hogan would have to pray those risks would cancel each other out—but knowing how unstoppable a team the two corporals could be, it was a prayer that had a good chance of being answered._

_“You heard me. We’ll ask the local Underground to send two men to take your place for roll call, and we’ll give Schultz what he needs to buy his silence. Grab your disguises and our stashed-away motorcycle, and get going. Oh, and, Fellas? Do us all a favor—keep each other alive.”_

***************************

Seeing Paris for the first time, it was clear that the city had been suffering from the hatred and malice of the occupation. Even from what he could see from the sidewalk café they had been told to arrive at, the city was a dark shadow of its former self. Newkirk glanced at LeBeau, who had grown very grim-faced as he glanced at the patrols walking up and down the street. His fingers clutched at his wineglass a bit too tightly, prompting Newkirk to gently place a hand on LeBeau’s shoulder for a moment.

LeBeau snapped out of it and put the glass down.

“I only wish your first view of this city could have been a better one,” he said, bitterly. “Like the views I had known.”

Newkirk’s thoughts briefly turned to his hometown, and how it must have suffered from the relentless German bombings.

“London wouldn’t be at ‘er best right now, either,” he returned. He glanced at his now-empty plate. “Food wasn’t ‘alf bad.”

“It was the best,” LeBeau insisted.

If Newkirk hadn’t been so concerned about the mission that they still knew nothing about, he’d have willingly engaged in the argument that LeBeau so clearly wanted to win. As such, he managed a wan chuckle, causing LeBeau to look at him in concern.

“ _C'est quoi, le problème?_?”

“The natural coward in me regrets not turning down the mission,” Newkirk admitted. “I don’t even know what I’m getting meself into.”

“Well, if it of any comfort at all, I shall be there getting into it with you, whatever it is,” LeBeau offered.

“…Ta.”

They continued to sip at their drinks as they waited, and soon, they heard a voice addressing them by their first names—

“Louis! Pierre!”

“Jean-Philippe?” LeBeau asked, stunned as he saw his elder brother approaching them. His surprise turned to genuine joy.

“Nice to see you again, Old Chum,” Newkirk said, having met Jean-Philippe on a mission where he and Carter had helped him escape from Vichy collaborators who had been holding him prisoner; it had been the first time in years that Louis had seen him, and Jean-Philippe’s departure from the tunnels and his return to the Free French had come as a blow for the younger LeBeau, still stuck at Stalag 13, cooking.

“How are Papa and Maman?” he now asked, as he and Newkirk paid for their meal and followed Jean-Philippe to where the rendezvous point awaited them.

“Quite well,” Jean-Philippe assured him. “They have been worried for you, of course—praying for your safe return.”

“…Is this really the time for this…?” Newkirk hissed in an undertone. “I was under the impression that you lot needed me for something dire—at least, that was what we got from Tiger and DuBois.”

The older LeBeau’s face sobered.

“That is true,” he said.

“But why _me_?” Newkirk asked. He lowered his voice to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “I was telling the Guv’nor that you lot could have no trouble finding safecrackers ‘ere in Paris—there was no need to ‘ave us come all the way from Stalag 13, unless what the Guv’nor thought was true, that you don’t trust anyone else.”

“For this, indeed, we needed someone we trusted most. That was the rationale behind selecting you,” Jean-Philippe agreed.

“I’m a thief and a rogue; trustworthiness isn’t exactly me selling point.”

“But loyalty is, _Caporal_ ,” a new voice said now. “And that is what we need most of all.”

Lt. DuBois now emerged from the shadows of an alleyway; he nodded at Jean-Philippe to indicate that the coast was clear.

“You are sure you were unobserved?” he asked.

“ _Oui_ ,” Jean-Philippe answered. “But I will double back to further ensure it.”

“Jean—!” the younger LeBeau protested, but his brother merely looked back with a reassuring nod before departing in the direction they had come.

“Do not worry,” DuBois assured him. “Your brother is no fool.”

“So he has told me since we were children,” the corporal replied, wryly. 

DuBois now led the corporals inside the meeting-place; it was a dark, abandoned warehouse, filled with old, wooden crates. It was lit only by a small lantern on a crate; Tiger and a few other people were sitting on smaller crates around it, but Tiger rose to greet them as they approached.

“LeBeau, Newkirk,” she greeted. “I am sorry for the suddenness of this meeting, but there was no time to lose.” She indicated the woman beside her, who now stood to greet the corporals. “This is Mademoiselle Carol Dukes.”

“Kinch’s bird?” Newkirk blurted out, prompting LeBeau to elbow him in the ribs as she arched an eyebrow in response.

“Forgive his crudeness, Mademoiselle,” LeBeau said, now kissing her hand. “ _Enchanté_. Kinch has told us so much about you.”

“Well, I hope he told you something about what happened with General Hammerschlag,” she said. “That will cut down the explanations.”

“Something about the Paris defense plans?” Newkirk recalled. “Kinch and the Guv’nor ‘elped you get photographs of them.”

“Correct,” DuBois said. “But Mademoiselle Dukes has found out that the general has made some alterations to the plans, despite having been convinced Kinchloe and _le Colonel_ they were worthy of Otto von Bismarck.”

“‘Minor alterations,’ he said,” Carol nodded. “Something about emergency backup reinforcements.”

“We need to know these emergency reinforcement plans,” Tiger explained. “It is imperative and urgent.”

“Is it that important that you needed to bring _me_ ‘ere?” Newkirk asked again. “I mean, why Paris, why me?”

LeBeau’s eyes widened as Tiger nodded.

“Is something happening?” he asked.

Tiger hesitated, exchanging a glance with DuBois.

“There is little we can say,” she said, at last. “ _Je suis désolée_.”

LeBeau looked a bit put off, but was distracted by the return of his brother; Jean-Philippe nodded at everyone, and then turned to Carol.

“The way back to the club is clear, Mademoiselle—you had best return before you are missed.”

Carol nodded.

“I have ensured that the general will be at the club tonight—you’ll have two hours to make your move,” she said.

And with that, she took her leave of everyone.

“Make our move?” Newkirk asked. “You mean, ‘ave me break into ‘ammerschlag’s safe!?”

“We would ensure your safe entry into his headquarters; you would be able to climb down the window of the room with the safe when you are finished taking the pictures,” DuBois said. “The patrols pass under that window every ten minutes; you would have no trouble getting away when you are finished.”

“As simple as that?” Newkirk asked. “And where is Louis in all this?”

“We need a face Hammerschlag’s men will not recognize to impersonate a Vichy policeman,” Tiger said. “He will confer with Hammerschlag’s men—draw their attention while you gain access to the safe.”

Newkirk bit his lip; then, he would have no way of knowing if LeBeau needed help.  
“Exactly what am I to ask them about?” LeBeau queried, thinking along the same lines, but for Newkirk’s safety.

“Merely to ensure, and repeatedly ensure, that everything is in order. They are not to discuss any details with anyone, so do not ask or provide any details yourself,” DuBois instructed. “Keep them busy for fifteen minutes, and then return.”

Newkirk had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

_Don’t have to worry about us giving details when we don’t know any_ …

“Then it is settled,” Tiger said, after hearing no vocalized dissent. “We will move tonight, as soon as Hammerschlag leaves for the club.”

***************************

Newkirk did what he did best during a nervous wait—simmered in his own thoughts as he waited for the official go-ahead. LeBeau divided his time between Newkirk and his brother, at least until Jean-Philippe had to scope Hammerschlag’s headquarters.

He returned later, announcing that the general had left for the club and they would have to move quickly.

“This whole thing is right charming, it is,” Newkirk muttered, as they headed for the building, accompanied by Jean-Philippe and DuBois, who were out in front of them.

“Sarcasm becomes you,” LeBeau returned.

“All I’m saying is that I deserve more than being dragged out ‘ere, being told to crack a safe, and not being told a ruddy thing as to why I’m doing the whole blooming affair. And you deserve more than that, too, Little Mate.”

“ _Oui_ , we deserve a lot of things—our freedom, for one,” LeBeau said. “I see this city— _my_ city—and I want nothing more than to stay and help her become free. But I know I must return to the Stalag after this; do you think that knowledge is easy for me to accept?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he indicated the headquarters as it came into view. “There—I shall go through the front; you will stay with my brother and DuBois.”

“Right, be careful,” Newkirk instructed. He was still quietly fretting under his breath, loathing the idea of LeBeau being on his own. Even Jean-Philippe cast a glance in his direction before they approached the window.

After waiting for the patrol to make their rounds, Newkirk used a grappling hook and climbed to the window. He was able to work the catch and slipped inside, pulling the grappling hook up with him as DuBois and Jean-Philippe both hid themselves again.

The room was dark, but painted in light colors, and furnished with a table and chairs where the general worked. The safe was on the wall.

Newkirk paused as he noticed the shadow of someone standing right outside the door of the room—a guard, no doubt. He would have to be swift and silent—thankfully, he had plenty of experience at that. And, sure enough, opening the safe had taken only minutes—he was well ahead of schedule.

_You would think a general as important as Hammerschlag would be able to afford a better safe_ , he mused.

He cast one more glance at the room door, and at the guard standing in front of it, and Newkirk now crept to the door and quietly placed his civilian jacket on the floor to cover the gap under the door. This was going to be a risky move, using the flashbulbs—but he couldn’t turn on the lights, and if the sentry was facing the corridor as he was supposed to, then, hopefully, he wouldn’t notice the flashes.

It took another few minutes of taking the photographs, along with casting several furtive glances at the door before Newkirk had finished. The sentry, mercifully, had not noticed. Newkirk replaced the plans, took his civilian jacket back, waited for the outside patrol to go past once more, and climbed out the window, using gravity and the ivy on the side of the building to make his way down without even needing the grappling hook this time. It was a move he had pulled off countless times before.

_Blimey, it’s almost anticlimactic…_

“Right, ‘ere it is,” he said, handing the camera and the film to DuBois. “Can Louis and I go back to Stalag 13 now?”

“Louis has not returned,” Jean-Philippe said, looking grim.

_…Not so anticlimactic after all_ , Newkirk realized, as his own expression darkened at the news.

“I told him fifteen minutes,” DuBois sighed. “Something must have happened. Newkirk, you should return to Stalag 13; Jean-Philippe and I will attempt to find out what happened to Louis.”

“Listen, Mate—I did every ruddy thing you asked of me up until this point,” Newkirk quipped, quietly. “You claimed I was the only one you could trust, but apparently not enough to tell me exactly why I was risking me life for this. Doesn’t exactly chuff me up. But I did it—did it because the Guv’nor trusts that you lot know what you’re doing, and I also did it because Louis was so ruddy determined to see it through, and ‘e was the best guide when it came to getting me ‘ere. But the Guv’nors orders stand more than yours—‘Keep each other alive,’ ‘e said. Right, you got what you wanted; I’ve got one more part of the mission to complete.”

Jean-Philippe exhaled.

“His face is unknown to Hammerschlag’s men; he would have a better chance at rescuing my brother than we would,” he admitted.

There was a pause before DuBois finally spoke—

“What do you need, Newkirk?”

“German uniform—rank of Major will do,” Newkirk responded.

***************************

_Carter makes it look so easy_ , Newkirk silently moaned as he returned to Hammerschlag’s headquarters, now as Major Newkirkheim. He walked with the arrogance and confidence an officer of his rank would have, trying to ignore his heart pounding away in his chest.

He returned the salutes fired his way, and only stopped as he finally found LeBeau, trying to negotiate his departure with some of Hammerschlag’s men, who were practically crowding around him.

“Gilles, what is the meaning of this delay!?” he barked.

LeBeau didn’t betray any surprise at seeing Newkirk in a German uniform.

“Forgive me, Major,” LeBeau said, calmly. “I made inquiries as you ordered, and yet, I find men who are unhelpful, and demand to know how I know information that I cannot divulge, given its nature.”

He glared at Hammerschlag’s men. “You!? Trying to force the leakage of classified information!? Why do you waste the valuable time of my Vichy liaison and commit such breaches of security on top of that!? If you don’t think for a moment that I won’t inform General Hammerschlag of your ineptitude, you are sorely mistaken!”

The men changed their tune immediately.

“I sent Gilles here to see if things were in order; clearly, that is not the case,” Newkirk said, ignoring their pleas. “Come, Gilles; let us meet the general at the club.”

LeBeau sneered at Hammerschlag’s men and departed with Newkirk; they didn’t say a word until they were far enough away from the building.

“Cor blimey…”

“ _Merci, mon pote_ …” LeBeau sighed.

“What even ‘appened?”

“It was all very strange, Pierre. They did not react when I told them I was a Vichy policeman. It was only when I asked to confirm that things were in order that they all started hounding me for information—of course, I had none to give them.”

“Well you can thank Tiger and DuBois for that idea,” Newkirk muttered. “Did it not occur to them that the men would get ‘ostile or suspicious over someone knowing information they were privy to?”

“It was not hostility or suspicion,” LeBeau said, after thinking about it for a moment. “It was an intense curiosity—almost desperation. They wanted to know more, and they were hoping that I could tell them.”

“…Wot?”

“ _Oui_ ; it was the strangest thing I had seen. The only reason I could not get away was because they were practically begging for information, and I did not want to arouse their suspicions by trying to make a quick exit. Your scaring them made them realize how much trouble they could get into for asking for this information, and that was why they let us go without any argument.”

“Blimey. Well, you’re welcome for the ‘elp, at any rate.”

“Believe me, I am grateful—”

“ _Louis_!” Jean-Philippe exclaimed, relieved.

After reassuring his brother—and DuBois and Tiger—that he was fine and that no suspicions had actually arisen, the two corporals were provided with provisions for the trip back to Stalag 13. Though they had tried to get more information about what that entire fiasco with Hammerschlag’s men could have been about, nothing was revealed to them—just more apologies for not being able to say anything.

“I still say it’s all too dodgy for my liking,” Newkirk muttered, as he glanced back at Paris, which they were rapidly leaving behind. “They know something, but they don’t want to tell us.”

“For security,” LeBeau sighed, also glancing back—but far more wistfully than his companion. “Things had gone awry as it was—if one of us _had_ gotten captured, we would not have had anything to reveal.”

“But any fool can tell that there’s something ‘appening,” Newkirk said. “The Underground knows it. Hammerschlag’s men know it, even if they don’t know exactly what. Why do they ‘ave to leave us in the dark about it? What is it that they can’t say?”

“I only know what you know,” LeBeau admitted. “But as I look back upon my city, I can feel the winds changing. Something is going to happen—I could taste it in the air.”

Newkirk was about to make a snarky remark, but thought better of it; despite how it sounded like poetic nonsense, he didn’t doubt that LeBeau could have a sixth sense regarding his hometown.

“But doesn’t it bother you to be left in the dark like that?” Newkirk asked at last. “Especially when it’s your city?”

LeBeau pondered this for a moment before taking one more look back.

“If it means that the next time I see _mon cher Paris_ will be in the light, then I do not mind being left in the dark for now.”

Newkirk considered this and nodded.

_I ‘ope you can see it soon, Little Mate_ , he silently transmitted.

Even a cynic sometimes had to have a little bit of hope.


End file.
